The Daughter
by BGMomiche
Summary: Sherlock discovers he has a daughter. She is arrogant, self centered, a know-it-all, drives him insane, and is just like them. However as the bond, or fail to bond, someone dangerous notices her, and trouble may arise.
1. Meet Your Daughter

"I'm sorry for your loss, now if you could please come with us," the child services agent said.

The girl had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. "Well," she tried to portray a poor hopeful newly-orphaned girl, "If we could find my father then-"

"I know you're hoping he's out there, but it would be near to impossible to find him!"

"I know, but if you could at least try…"

"Alright," she said, not wanting to break the girls hopes, "but don't expect a miracle,"

The girl hid a smirk. She didn't need a miracle, or their help. She could find him on her own.

*later*

The doorbell rang on Baker Street, and John Watson answered. He saw an official looking lady with a girl in her early teens.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Mr. Holmes?" the lady asked,

"No, he's inside. I'm sorry, who are you?"

"I'm Mrs. Noble from the child services. I'm here with his daughter, Isa-"

"What, daughter?" Watson called back into the flat, "Sherlock come down here!"

The woman continued, "We just need a quick DNA test to confirm that he is the biological father, and he sign the documents to become her legal guardian,"

*at the hospital*

The doctor came back with the results, "Yes, she your daughter, Mr. Holmes,"

"But that's impossible! I never had a daugh-"

He was interrupted by the child services agent, "If you do not want to take responsibility as her father, just sign a few papers and we can give her to a nice foster family or group home,"

"Can I have a word with my –"he cringed "daughter,"

"Of course,"

The doctor and agent left the room, leaving Holmes, Watson, and the girl.

"Who are you?" Sherlock questioned.

"I'm your daughter, of course," she smirked.

"I mean _who _are you,"

"Isabelle Dagher,"

"And your mother?" Watson piped up.

"Amelia Dagher, are you that thick?" she said sarcastically.

"I mean where is she?"

"Dead of course, why else would I be here?"

Sherlock continued with his interrogation, "You don't seem very depressed by this. Shouldn't you be sobbing or something?"

"I don't cry." She stated bluntly.

"What do you mean you don't cry?" Watson asked.

"I don't cry. When I was little I didn't want to look weak so I trained myself not to cry,"

"How can you train yourself not to cry? You're a sociopath, just like Sherlock, aren't you?"

"I am not a sociopath!" she scoffed, "I hate that title. I think of myself as a strong believer in the Stoic philosophy! Besides, I have emotions, just not weak ones,"

"When did she tell you this?" Sherlock asked her.

"Well," she laughed nervously, "she didn't exactly tell me. There were just an abundance of pictures…in a shoe box…under her bed,"

"And you went snooping through her room?" Watson asked in astonishment.

"Yes, I was bored! There was nothing to do! Besides, I don't trust people, people are stupid,"

Yup, this was definitely Sherlock's daughter. John took a good look at her. She was wearing yellow shorts that were a few inches above her knee, and tight white tank top. She looked about fourteen, but was tall for her age. She had a pretty face that looked defiant and proud. She had dark eyes, and wore her brown hair in a bun on her head. She did look a lot like Sherlock Holmes.

"Well," Holmes stated, "We're not going to keep you anyways,"

"What do you mean you're not going to keep her? She's not a pet, she's your daughter! _Your _daughter!"

"It's either this or a group home," she added defiantly.

"You are nothing but trouble! Do you know that?"

"Yes, and I pride myself in the fact! Drove my mum insane. _I_ saw nothing wrong with it,"

Sherlock glared at her for a moment, as if analyzing everything he knew about her so far.

"Alright," he said, "You can stay,"


	2. Boredom

It was the day following that whole event. They had found a room for Isabelle, thanks to Mrs. Hudson.

Isabelle walked into the parlor where Sherlock was on his laptop, and fell onto the couch next to him with an over-exaggerated sigh. Sherlock ignored her, so she sighed again. This continued for another minute until he was so annoyed he finally snapped, "What?"

"I'm bored,"

"Not my problem," he continued to tap away at the computer.

"But there's nothing to do!" she whined.

"Read a book,"

"I can't! I only read Agatha Christies murder mysteries, and I've read all of them! Honestly, they were all a bit too easy to solve anyways,"

"Then find something to do,"

"Last time I had to find something to do, I found my 'long lost' father,"

"Find someone else to live with,"

Isabelle groaned and Sherlock continued to use the computer. After a few minutes, she finally repeated, "I'm bored,"

"Don't you have friends you can annoy?"

"Yes, I have friends; I just hate them all,"

John, who had just walked into the room asked, "How can you hate your friends?"

"I don't have friends to be social, or feel needed," she retorted," I have friends to have connections. It works actually; apparently I'm 'easy to talk to…'"

"It's scary how alike you to are," He told Sherlock, and then turned back to Isabelle, "You can't tell me you don't like _any _of your friends!"

"Well, I like three. One is a completely antisocial, she does the craziest things, but she's smart and nice. The other will probably get arrested one day, only because of her stupidity and carelessness. Don't get me wrong, she's book smart, just not street smart…at all. The last one is an evil genius, and will probably take over the world someday, but when she does, she's promised me second in command, so I don't care,"

"Those are the only friends you actually like?" John said astonished.

"Yup," she smirked.

"You can't honestly tell me you have nothing to do, there has to be _something,_" John tried to help.

"Well, sometimes, I try to solve some mystery in the news, but there's nothing interesting in the news, the world is being boring. Other times, I just plot murders with the friends I actually like,"  
"You do what?"

"We plot _murders_. We don't really go through with it! It's just fun. Turns out, we might be able to get away with it if we actually did kill someone,"

"I doubt it," Sherlock retorted, still absorbed in whatever he was doing on the computer.

"Well what do you for fun?"She asked her father.

"He shoots walls," John answered, and Isabelle laughed.

"We're leaving John, Lestrade e-mailed me, we have to go," Sherlock continued, ignoring the previous comment,"

"You mean someone got killed?" Isabelle's eyes got wide with enthusiasm, "Can I come?"

"No," Sherlock told her," it's a crime scene, not a playground,"

"But I'm fourteen! Besides I'm so bo-"

Sherlock closed the door, cutting her off. They had already left.

"Ugh, now I have to find something to do!" she complained to the wall.


	3. The Prime Minister

The door opened as Sherlock and John walked in. Isabelle was lying on an armchair upside down, her feet were on the headrest and her head near the ground; She had a phone in her hand.

"You left your phone here," she said without looking up, "Who's 'the Woman', and why are you so obsessed with her?"

Sherlock angrily snatched the phone out of his daughter's hands, while John was holding back laughter.

"Why were looking through my phone?" he asked her.

"I was bored, and it was just sitting there…" she sat upright, still looking bored. Switching her attention to John, she said, "Oh, and I found condoms in your room, do you really think you're going to need them…ever?"

John, suddenly angry huffed, "Why were you going through the things in my room?"

"I told you, I was bored. Besides, it's fun! You'd be surprised how much dirt people keep shoved under their beds. Anyways, what happened when you guys were out, who died?"

Sherlock, who had already loss interest in his daughter's conversation said, "The prime minister, murdered," then went back to thinking.

Suddenly filled with energy, Isabelle jumped up from where she was sitting, with a large smile on her face and started rambling, "Seriously?! The prime minister? That is so cool; I was just thinking that there was nothing interesting on the news. I mean, why has the news got to be so boring? It should be filled with murder and scandals and war and violence. All they were talking about today was David Tennants new girlfriend! This is amazing! The prime minister is not only dead, but murdered. I'm so happy I cou-"

She cut herself off after seeing John's appalled face, "I mean…Oh no, the prime minister was murdered? That's terrible, a national disaster…"

"She really is your daughter," John said, as he too plopped down into a chair.

"So what happened exactly, how did he die?" she asked her father. He shrugged, ignoring her, as he continued to think. Annoyed, she turned to Watson.

"He was shot with his own gun. At first they thought it was suicide, but the gun was put back in one of his drawers, and there was no note. All the doors and windows were locked from the inside," he answered for her.

She cocked her head slightly as she thought, "What kind of windows?"

"What?"

"What kind of windows?" she repeated, "This soundly a lot like one of my murder mysteries…"

"I don't know, I wasn't paying attention to that," John replied, confused.

"Well," she hopped up from her chair again and headed towards the door, "I'm going to go check it out,"

"Wait, what do you mean check it out? You can't just walk into the prime minister's house, let alone when a murder just happened!"

Isabelle was already out the door and halfway down the stairs, "Well if you too don't come and get me in there, I'll just sneak in myself!" she called.


End file.
